


Reverberation- Chapter 8: Terrible Things (Male Version)

by Willowli



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: I am too tired, M/M, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Reader-Insert, honestly i am not going to re-write all the tags, thank you and goodnight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 00:27:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowli/pseuds/Willowli
Summary: This is the male version of the eighth chapter in my Detroit: Become Human Fanfiction: Reverberation. It's mostly ambiguous, but I wanted to write a chapter from Connor's perspective and needed to use pronouns. So, to make sure everyone felt included, I made three versions of the same chapter!Female version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656046/chapters/39485512Non-Binary/Gender Neutral version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821499Chapter 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656046/chapters/36364932





	Reverberation- Chapter 8: Terrible Things (Male Version)

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter might be a little... specific. I hope you can relate to the the reaction, even if you can't relate to the thing being reacted TO, if that makes any sense. That being said, I hope you like the chapter! Thank you all for reading!

“Maybe the perpetrator will strike the same store again, now that it’s repaired,” Connor offered as he leaned over Hank’s shoulder and observed the case files.

“Could be. It’s almost _too_ obvious, though. It might be a setup,” Hank leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Several empty cups of coffee were discarded on the desk, and Connor observed that only two of them were from earlier that morning. It was concerning, to say the least.

“Yes, but based on the property destroyed in the previous break-ins,” Connor responded as he touched the screen and pulled up pictures of the crime scene. It was a store window with a trash can thrown in it, the items destroyed, and inside, the cashier was shot and all the money stolen. The symbol of the android revolution was signed above the “No Androids Allowed” sign. “It wasn’t a planned, covert murder, but spur-of-the-moment. I suggest we follow the pattern and go on a stakeout the night of-”

Suddenly, Connor was interrupted by a sharp, short-lived scream, followed by the sound of what could only a coffee mug smashing against a counter. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and glanced over at the break room. It wasn’t just any scream, though. Connor recognized it.

It was _his_ scream.

Connor ignored Hank’s angry protests as he shot up and hurried over to the break room, the case completely forgotten. His thoughts were only of him. Why did he scream? Why did a coffee cup break?

Was he okay?

That was a question that he almost never had the answer to, but it kept reappearing in his objectives. Check on the Detective. Make sure he was stable, or preferably, happy. Apart from Hank, his well-being was his priority.

It was understandable why he would want to take care of Hank. He was Connor’s partner, his friend, and he needed near constant psychological, emotional and physical assistance. He needed Connor to help him stop drinking, to help him get back on his feet, to help him recover from the trauma induced by his son’s premature death. He needed Connor, and Connor needed to help him. It was logical.

He didn’t understand _why_ he felt the need to protect _him,_ though. Sure, it was obvious that he had some form of anxiety, but he wasn’t Connor’s partner. He wasn’t his responsibility.

So why was he always thinking about him?

Maybe it was the newfound empathy that Connor gained that fueled his desire to make him happy. Maybe it was a kind of respect or admiration; he certainly was a good cop. Maybe it was because he always treated him with kindness, even before he was a deviant. Maybe it was the way that every time he talked to him, his vitals went crazy, like he was intimidated or frightened, and he felt a need to reassure him.

Or maybe it was the way his head would shoot up and his eyes would flash at him every time he entered a room. Maybe it was the way his face would light up when he said hello, or how he would smile so big and make Connor wish he would do it more often. Or how he didn’t seem to realize how talented, intelligent and _extraordinary_ he was.

Connor shook his head as he rounded the corner to the break room, confused by where that train of thought come from. It wasn’t the first time that had happened. He needed to focus on the task at hand, he could be in danger.

“Detective?” He inquired as he stepped into the alcove. His eyes scanned the room as he analyzed the scene.

The Detective was standing in a defensive, closed off position near the high tables. His breathing was rapid and highly irregular, and he was trembling slightly. His heart was beating at a rate of 114 bpm, an alarming jump from his average of 78. His eyes traveled to the side of the room he was facing, where coffee was dripping off the counter and staining the carpet below. The countertop was too tall for him to have dropped the mug. He looked at the angle of the smashed pieces, and concluded that he had been standing, making a coffee, and had thrown his mug at something, towards the sink. What he had thrown his mug at, he wasn’t sure, but it had him in a state of serious panic.

He turned at the sound of Connor’s greeting, and pure relief flooded into his eyes as he rushed over to him and grabbed his forearm tightly, as if he was floating in the ocean and he was his life preserver. “Connor, thank God you’re here. It-It crawled out of the sink, please please please kill it, please, It’s GIGANTIC, please just kill it, please-”

“Everything’s alright, you’re okay,” Connor reassured him in a quiet voice, as comforting as possible. He leaned over him and massaged his shoulder in soothing circles, and he watched as his heart rate slowly fell and his breathing grew steadier. Success. “What crawled out of the sink?”

Unfortunately, that might have been the wrong thing to say, because his heart rate shot right back up to where it started. He took a deep, shuddering breath and silently pointed to the sink. He started to make his way over, and he felt him let go of him. His arm immediately went cold. He furrowed his brows at him questioningly, but he violently shook his head. He stared at him for a second before he slowly turned around and cautiously made his way over to the sink. He peered inside, curious to see what had made him so uncomfortable.

Inside the stainless steel sink was a dark brown wolf spider, about a millimeter larger than a shot glass. It was not moving, most likely spooked by the mug. He tilted his head at it, before he turned back to him inquisitively.

He saw his expression, and looked away, his face turning red. He dug his nails into his left arm, a habit Connor really wished he would put an end to.

“You have a fear of spiders,” He said. He sighed and nodded.

“I know, I know, it’s really stupid. Sorry, they just... REALLY freak me out. I really don’t like them,” He stammered quickly, in a slightly shaky voice. He took another deep breath before she made a noise and squirmed. His feet rubbed at his shins, as if the spider was going up his legs and crawling on the rest of his body.

“Okay, okay, don’t worry,” he said his name softly, in an effort to stop his panicking. He had severe arachnophobia, it seemed, and he obviously wouldn’t be comfortable until he knew the spider was dead. “Everything will be alright. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” He breathed, and he nodded as he turned back to the sink. He leaned over it, and found that the spider still hadn’t moved. He was looking around for something to kill it with he heard footsteps approaching. Unfortunately, he knew those footsteps. He closed his eyes and mentally sighed.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Gavin Reed’s voice came from the entrance to the break room, as perpetually pissed as ever. Connor glanced over at Reed, who, like him, was surveying the scene. He saw Connor at the counter and scoffed angrily, before he all but stomped over to peer down into the sink.

First he saw the spider, at which he scoffed again, then he saw Connor, standing over it, and finally he turned to the Detective, who was wearing the expression of someone who had just smelled spoiled milk. Fortunately, Reed wasn’t a bad detective, and he figured out what had happened. Unfortunately, he was what Hank would call an “asshole,” and didn’t know what the word subtle meant.

“You’re afraid of _spiders?_ ” Reed laughed, and this time, he shook his head.

“N-no! It just surprised me!” He crossed his arms, presumably to hide his shaking hands. Connor noticed that his hands tended to perspire and tremble when he was nervous.

“Oh really,” Gavin replied sarcastically, obviously not convinced. He looked back down at the spider, and he smiled, either mischievously or manically, Connor couldn’t tell. Either way, Connor was suddenly suspicious of what Detective Reed was plotting. He sincerely hoped that Gavin wasn’t as much of an “insensitive prick” as to actually do what his behavior was implying.

“So, it wouldn’t upset you if I did,” Gavin smirked, and Connor went to grab Gavin’s hand before he could reach the sink. He didn’t react fast enough, and Gavin scooped up the spider and held it by two of its legs. “This?”

The Detective inhaled sharply, and he took a step back, his arms flying up into a stop position. It squirmed and frenetically thrashed in his grip, its body twisting and struggling against his fingers. Gavin saw his face and laughed triumphantly, “I knew it! You shouldn’t try to lie to me, sweetheart.”

Connor felt a wave of something red-hot surge through his head at the way Gavin talked to him. He shouldn’t speak to him that way, Connor thought. At the word “sweetheart,” Connor had to fight the urge to punch him.

“Reed, stop it RIGHT NOW,” He demanded, his voice loud, as if he was having trouble controlling it. Gavin laughed stepped forward with his arm outstretched, the spider squirming in front of him. He whimpered at the sight of its writhing legs as his breathing became dangerously close to hyperventilation. “Gavin...”

He took another step and he covered his ears and turned away, his eyes shut tight. He hunched over, his arms pulled taught against his body, and his legs jammed together in a tense standing position. “Stop, stop, stop, please, _please_ stop, just kill it, please just kill it!”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad, just look at him!” Gavin insisted, and he (rather unwisely) complied. He peaked over and saw him, halfway through the room now, his hand only about five feet from him. He stared at it, frozen in fear, a completely terrified look on his face.

“He told you to stop, Gavin. Put it back,” Connor demanded, desperate to help him. He couldn’t attack Gavin. That would make him drop the spider and cause him to panic even more, not to mention the way Gavin would retaliate. He couldn’t try to grab the spider, because that would scare him as well. He was his top priority. He couldn’t let him get hurt. He _wouldn’t._

_“_ Fuck off, tin man, I’m just teasing. Isn’t that right, babe?” Gavin took another step and laughed as he backed up against the wall. He was frantically scanning the room looking for a way out, but his eyes landed back on the spider and he cringed. He was hyperventilating, and his heart rate had risen to a dangerous 132 bpm. Connor realized that if he didn’t do something, there was a high probability that he would have a panic attack.

“Please, please, please, stop, no, no, no, no, please, just kill it, PLEASE,” he cried desperately, repetitively, almost incoherently. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears as he covered his ears again and dug his nails into his scalp. Gavin took another step and he let out a pitiful, choked sob, turning away and screwing his eyes shut.

“That’s enough!” Connor snapped as his chest tightened from the sound of his quiet, broken cries. He raced across the room to the Detective and stood in front of him, using his body to shield his trembling form from the spider that was still flailing in Gavin’s grasp. He put his arms behind him, where his hands found his elbows as he buried his head in the back of his shirt. He grabbed desperate handfuls of the fabric as he trembled behind him. The tight, heavy feeling in Connor’s chest only got worse, and he realized with shock that his own eyes with stinging slightly. Why was he so upset that _he_ was upset? He swallowed the lump in his throat and commanded, “Leave him alone, now!”

Gavin looked up at Connor with disgust and contempt. “Listen here you little shit,” he leaned in. “Don’t you EVER try to tell me what to do!”

“Detective Reed, put the spider back, or else it-“

“Don’t you dare threaten me!” Gavin hissed, fuming. “I’m the human! That means you shut the fuck up, and do what I tell you to do! Now get out of my way!”

“You need to put the spider down now, or it’s going to-“

Gavin suddenly yelped and he reeled back, his arm shooting towards his body. He waved his hand rapidly in the air, cursing. “OW! FUCK!”

“-Bite you,” Connor finished, unable to hold back the smug satisfaction.

As Gavin was inspecting his fingers, the spider tumbled to the floor, where it started to scurry towards the counter. The Detective tensed up as he watched it fall, and as soon as it started moving, his terror spiked. “Oh my God oh my God Connor it’s moving oh God no no no no no please please kill it please please please,” He was begging, almost hysterically, tugging on Connor’s arm.

“I’m on it,” He replied. It had stopped moving, probably out of fear from Reed’s erratic movements and loud swears. Killing it wasn’t his objective, though. Making him feel safe was. He scooped him up in a bridal carry and dispensed him gently on one of the tall chairs. He gripped the table for support and brought his knees up to his chest, in an attempt to put as much distance between himself and the floor.

Connor walked over to where the spider was cowering on the ground. He looked at it for a second, before he stuck his heel out and rolled his foot onto it. He felt it crunch under his shoe, and he grimaced slightly. He twisted his foot and put all of his weight on it. When he lifted his foot up, he checked its broken, contorted body, and found that it was, in fact, deceased. “It’s dead.”

Connor heard a thunk from behind him, and he turned to see that he had dropped his head onto the table. He was still shaking. Connor picked up a napkin and scooped up the remains of the spider. He tossed it in the trash can, but before he could turn to comfort him, he was interrupted by Gavin’s hand on his shoulder, violently turning him around.

“You KNEW it was going to bite me!” He accused. “And you didn’t fucking TELL ME? You fucking plastic piece of shit! Who do you think you are?”

“You’re allergic to bees,” Connor stated calmly, and Reed looked taken aback.

“How the fuck did you...?”

“If you’re allergic to bees, there’s a high probability that you’re allergic to spider bites as well. Your finger has already swollen to 130% of its original size. You should seek medical help,” Connor explained, his voice unwaveringly calm, and his face impartial.

“Fuck!” Gavin looked like he was about to punch Connor again. He looked over at the Detective, then he stuck his finger in Connor’s chest and snarled, “Next time, he won’t be here. And then, I’m going to rip you into pieces so tiny they won’t be able to put you back together again,”

“Give me a call before you do. I want to make sure Hank’s there to get a picture,” Connor leaned down to look Reed in the eyes. He looked like he was about to say something, but Connor tapped his own hand in a reminder. Reed looked down at his finger, which was most likely throbbing with pain.

“Fuck!” Gavin shouted, and he stormed off. Relief spread through Connor’s system.

Connor straightened his tie and finally approached the Detective. He said his name gently as he placed his hand on his shoulder. He cringed away his touch, and it made him feel like his chest was being put through a hydraulic press. He didn’t like the way him being upset made him feel. He supposed this was empathy again. But it really seemed... different, with him, somehow.

He leaned in and said his name again. “It’s okay. Detective Reed is gone, and the spider is dead. Everything’s alright now.”

“I’m sorry...” He mumbled, barely audible. His voice cracked and he sniffed, and, once again, Connor felt his own eyes stinging.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Gavin has no right to talk to you like that, and especially no right to torment you. You should to file a complaint-”

“No!” His head shot up, and Connor finally saw his face. It was red and tear-stained, but the first thought that came to Connor’s mind when he saw it was how beautiful he was, despite his shiny eyes. He never wanted to see him that upset ever again. “I can’t do that! You saw how Gavin reacted. If everyone knew I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Gavin is an outlier. Most of the people here would understand. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Phobias are irrational,” Connor murmured as he rubbed soothing circles on his back. Tears brimmed in his eyes again, and the weight in Connor’s chest got heavier. He wrapped his arms around him and he leaned into his embrace, trembling. “It wasn’t your fault. Everything is alright.”

Connor traced slow lines up and down his back as he held him close. He always felt so small and fragile, even though he was one of the most strong, competent people Connor knew. He hadn’t done much hugging in his lifetime, but from the few ones he had experienced, the hugs from the Detective were his favorites. It wasn’t just the fact they were somehow special, different from Hank’s. It was the way he fit perfectly in his arms, like he was meant to be there. It was how soft and warm he was, and how he would sigh and nestle in even closer. It was the indescribable feeling that he felt whenever he was round him, but amplified.

Maybe he liked his hugs the best just because they were from _him._

“I’m sorry,” He whispered again as he buried his face into his chest. His heart rate was back down to 88, and still dropping, and his breathing was slow and even. He was stable. Connor let out a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry that you had to go through all this trouble for something as stupid as a spider. I just... hate them so much.”

“It’s okay, don’t apologize. Everyone has fears. Phobias are don’t make logical sense, and that can be incredibly frustrating. You’ve been through a lot more than me today. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”

“No, no,” He shook his head. “I appreciate you coming to help me at all.”

“It’s not a problem,” Connor responded.

“Hey Connor?”

“Yes?”

He broke away from the hug, and Connor had to restrain himself from pulling him back into it, to keep him close. He looked up at him thoughtfully, and Connor’s thirium pump felt like it was malfunctioning. His large, stunning eyes met his as he asked, “You never stand up for yourself when Gavin harasses you. Why’d you stand up for me?”

Connor blinked, thrown off by his question. It was something he didn’t have a real answer to, another query about emotions and life he desperately wished he could understand. He chose a safe option and answered, “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“And beating up Gavin isn’t?”

“Unfortunately, that would cause more problems than it would solve. Besides, I think the spider took care of that for us.”

“Was that true?” He tilted his head, causing another ripple of _something_ to make its way through Connor’s limbs. “Since Gavin’s allergic to bees, he’s also allergic to spiders?”

“Absolutely. If he has any bit of intelligence, he’ll be on his way to the nearest hospital or clinic right now,” Connor checked his map and saw that there was a hospital just two blocks away. Reed would be fine.

“I should text him to make sure he actually goes to one,” He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hands, before he glanced up at him between his fingers. He pursed his lips slightly, and furrowed his brow. His eyes drifted up, as if he was analyzing him. He looked hesitant as he said, “Are _you_ afraid of anything? You don’t have to answer, I’m just curious...”

Connor thought for a moment. “I’m not sure,” he began, and he was faintly aware that he was watching his LED as it flickered yellow. “There are things I don’t find as appealing as others, but I don’t think I’m “afraid” of anything specifically. I don’t even know if I’d be able to recognize it if I was scared.”

He hummed in response, a beautiful, soft noise that Connor couldn’t quite describe, but always wanted to hear more of. He thought back to early in the summer, when he had left his work to investigate that noise and had found him singing. His voice was… enchanting, for lack of a better word. There was something about it that made Connor want to stop and listen, something that made him forget about all his questions and confusion. His voice made him feel… something. It was the same something that he felt when he talked to him, or held him, or when he smiled or made Connor smile. The same unidentifiable feeling that fueled his desire to be around him, to get to know him, to _protect_ him. He looked at him, and wished that he understood.

“Spiders and singing in front of people,” Connor remarked, leaning on the table. “That’s an odd combination of fears.”

“It always come back to the singing with you, doesn’t it?” He smiled, and Connor laughed softly. He was still getting used to the way laughing felt.

“Not always,” He argued, and he rolled his eyes.

Connor watched as he slowly slid off the stool, and hesitantly touched the carpet. He looked at the trash can warily, and Connor quickly placed a hand on his back, before his heartrate could rise substantially. He guided him to the doorway, although he still seemed slightly uneasy. “Are you sure you’ll be okay going back to work?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be okay,” He answered confidently, shaking his arms out one last time. He looked up at him, his eyes full of some kind of emotion, Connor couldn’t tell what. It seemed familiar, though, as if he’d seen it before.

Before he walked away, he leaned up on the tips of his toes and hugged Connor again. His arms grasped him tightly, similar to the way he grabbed his arm when he had first come to investigate the scream. Connor returned the hug eagerly, and he rested his cheek on the side of his head. He breathed in, cataloguing the way he smelled, memorizing it. He didn’t really have good criteria for what made a smell “good,” per se, but he did know that he liked the way he smelled. He and Hank both smelled familiar, like it was more than just the things and places that made up their scents. Somewhere in his social relations programs, he knew that smelling people wasn’t an incredibly acceptable or normal practice, but when it came to him, he didn’t care.

“Thank you,” He breathed, squeezing him tighter. “Just… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” He replied quietly. For once in his life, he didn’t want to go back to his desk. He just wanted to be with him.

He audibly sighed, and let go of him. “I’ll see you later, Connor.”

“Have a nice day, Detective,” He stated as he turned to walk back to her desk. He watched her walk away. He had impeccable balance, Connor thought, before he turned away quickly, realizing that he was staring inappropriately. He stole a glance at him as he sat down at his desk, and when his eyes met his, he rapidly turned to his computer.

“What was all that about?’ Hank asked.

“Nothing,” Connor said. Hank didn’t look persuaded, but he shrugged and went back to his screen.

Connor looked down at his coin, and flipped it to the heads side. His eyes traced the engraved features of the Detective, and he felt something in his lower torso, like he was being pulled down to the ground.

This wasn’t normal.

. . .

“Can I ask you a question, Lieutenant?”

“When do you ever not?” Hank grumbled as he took a bite of his burrito. He sighed, frustrated when Connor didn’t respond, and he turned to face him in his seat. “Shoot.”

“It’s an… Emotional problem. I think,” Connor began.

“If you try to tell me about my “emotional problems” one more time I swear to fucking God Connor-”

“It’s not about you,” Connor interrupted, holding his hands up to pacify the angry old man sitting in the car next to him. “It’s about… me, I suppose.”

“Huh,” Hank leaned back, and bit another chunk out of his lunch. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“I believe I’m experiencing an emotion that I haven’t before, and I’m having trouble identifying it. I thought since you have much, _much,_ ” Connor exaggerated the second much, and Hank frowned. “More experience with emotions than me, you could help me. If it’s not an emotion, it’s most likely a virus.”

“Couldn’t you have just looked it up on the internet or something?”

“I have,” Connor tapped at the armrest. “Many times. I don’t think the results are entirely accurate, though.”

“Okay,” Hank mumbled. Connor looked at him blankly, and Hank hit his arm. “Go on, I can’t identify an emotion if you don’t describe it to me!”

“Right,” Connor nodded, and he looked out the window at the rainy street. He was right about the saturation, he thought. “What would you call an emotion where you’re constantly thinking and worrying about someone? And when you’re around them, It’s like nothing else exists anymore, and all that you care about is them and their happiness. When they touch you, it feels like your skin is on fire, but you don’t want to stop the burning. You want them to be safe above everything else, above logic, and you don’t understand why you’re always so… Happy to be around them, and talking to them makes you feel lighter, in a way. You’re constantly thinking about them, and you think they’re amazing, and… And all you want to do is be with them, even though everything seems so illogical and doesn’t make sense. What… What would you call that?”

Connor looked over at Hank, slightly embarrassed that he had rambled on for so long. When he saw Hank’s face, Connor wasn’t so sure that telling him was the best idea.

Hank was staring at Connor with the most peculiar expression, as if he had just told him he enjoyed breaking people’s toes for sport. After a long moment, Hank finally spoke. “Jesus Christ, Connor… Most advanced computer in the world and you can’t even tell when you have a crush on someone,” Hank laughed, and Connor tilted his head.

“I know what a crush is,” Connor retorted, and he looked away again. “I don’t have a crush.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me. I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Hank lectured him, and at the word “him” Connor’s head swiveled back to look at him. He didn’t use his name. Hank _couldn’t_ know who it was, right? Why was Connor so intent on not letting him know? Another thing to add to the list of things that didn’t make sense. Hank switched burrito hands and patted Connor on the back roughly. “It’s okay that you like him.”

“I don’t like him!” Connor exclaimed, and he immediately felt some kind of guilt. Hank raised his eyebrows, and Connor shook his head slowly. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. I mean, I don’t like him _romantically._ ”

“That’s bullshit, Connor, you know that just as well as I do. Liking someone isn’t the end of the fucking world.”

“I know. I’m just… Concerned about the possibilities. Android and human relationships are virtually nonexistent. There would be social consequences. The last thing I want to do is put him in an uncomfortable situation. Plus, I doubt he has the same feelings about me.” He looked out the window gloomily.

At that, Hank actually laughed, and Connor glanced at him, confused. “That’s one of the funniest things I’ve heard in _weeks_ ,” he wheezed.

“I don’t understand, what’s funny about-“

“Connor, listen. Relationships are hard. Confusing. They don’t make any goddamn sense. But if you’re in the right one, you’ll know. Just ask him out on a date, and be done with it. Unless you’d like to stay where you are, two of you drooling over each other when you think nobody’s watching,”

‘What?”

“Never mind. But I’m serious. Ask him on a date, or I’ll arrange one for you,”

“No, thank you. I’ll think about it,” Connor looked down, and looked at his coin again. He traced his nail over the ridges on its edge and sighed.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Connor. It’s that bad?” Hank joked as he crumpled up the foil and tossed it into the back seat. Connor caught it and placed it in his pocket, to properly throw away later. He didn’t respond thought. He just sat back in his heat and stared straight ahead. Hank grumbled, and started the engine. The car sputtered to life, and the two of them rolled down the rainy street.

Connor’s head felt overcrowded, too full of new information and data.

How could everything suddenly make sense, but also be even more confusing than before?

**Author's Note:**

> RIP people who aren’t afraid of spiders
> 
> Nah but I have AWFUL arachnophobia, so this chapter in inspired by that. Actually, I probably react even more violently because I have less control and maturity or something.
> 
> Anyway I hope you like the chapter! Gavin finally gets smacked, and there’s just a tiny bit of hurt/comfort. Also Connor’s really difficult to write. But I did my best, and I really hope you liked it!
> 
> Like I said, sorry if you’re cool with spiders. In this story I guess the spider can just represent those feelings of panic and terror, and I hope you can still relate to the reader’s reaction even if you can’t relate to the thing they’re reacting to.
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you all so much for all your positive feedback! All your kind comments and kudos and bookmarks and views have made me so excited and inspired to write! I appreciate every single one of them, and I know people just say that a lot, but it's totally true. Words can not describe how much each individual comment means to me. They make me so happy, and turn my days from bad to good in just a moment. I'm so glad people seem to like my writing! 
> 
> If you guys ever see anything, ANYTHING wrong at all, please do not hesitate to say something! The customer is always right, as they say, and I really want to improve. Criticism and practice is the only way my writing will get better!
> 
> But anyway, thank you SO MUCH for 1800+ hits! And THANK YOU FOR READING!!!


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